Blood Is Life
by Little-Emms
Summary: Another one shot, this time about young Kain, when the bloodthirst calls... Rated K just to be safe, nothing bad in it really though.


Disclaimer: I don't own Nosgoth, Sarafan Knights, Kain, or nothing. Or even

This story takes place around Blood Omen 2, not sure when in it though.

It is, true as always, a black night in Nosgoth. A cold moon shines down, cruel and unforgiving, from its place directly in the centre of the sky. There is no movement on the ground, except…no…yes…

Now you see him, now you don't. Sometimes an indistinct spectre in the low, swirling mist, sometimes the figure of a tall and muscular man with long snowy hair. A man, that is, with fangs.

Terrified locals call him, whispering in hushed and scared voices, "The Moonwalker, The Son of the Night." They clutch their prayer beads, their rosemary and thyme, pin charms up above the door, in vain hope of keeping him at bay. The Sarafan just call him, "The Vampire." Their approach to him is more physical; attack him with swords and shields raised high, calling insults and chanting prayers.

But no-one has ever been able to get the better of him yet.

The vampire Kain steps into the open. It has been a long, tiring day for him, and he feels thoroughly tired and dejected. Not to mention hungry.

He is actually in quite a deserted part of Nosgoth, and even he, with his superb senses, cannot see, or smell, or hear, any human anywhere. This doesn't really worry him at the moment – the bloodthirst is not dangerously pressing on him. He walks on, long red cloak fluttering behind him, moonlight glinting on his armour.

Kain stops after 10 minutes. He has not came across any human – or, for that matter, any other living creature. He begins to feel slightly worried – the bloodthirst is coming on more now – but his rational thinking, as usual, kicks in. Nosgoth is rich in the human cattle and he will definitely find one somewhere.

Another 20 minutes and the would-be vampire Lord has still not found any human. He is now panicking slightly – he is beginning to see the night through a red haze, a sure sign that the bloodthirst is very quickly going to develop properly. His walk changes to a slight trot, like that of a spooked horse.

Another 15-20 minutes later and Nosgoth is still deserted. Adrenaline pumps up and down Kain's body and cold sweat tracks down his body, a leftover human habit. His usually tiger – gold eyes are flaring blood-red and now red mist obscures his vision. He cannot think straight – he cannot think about anything but finding any living creature, anything at all, and draining it of blood. His sharp nails subconsciously claw at his sides and trousers. Frenzied words, words he has half-forgotten, play and replay ceaselessly in his violin-string taut mind.

_Blood is life. Without it, you will die._

Kain's senses, stronger than ever, attune to something…a sound…a familiar smell…a _sight…_

It is a Sarafan Knight.

He is young and nervous, but he carries his head high, his shoulders are back and his back his straight.

Kain gives a low, predatory growl, and his eyes literally glow red.

Kain is weak – his legs are a mixture of wool and lead, but all he thinks is blood, blood, blood… and here is a ready made meal for him. All he has to do is attack and kill it, like he has done so many times before… It wwill be alright, it doesn't matter that his head is throbbing and his muscles are aching…and he is hungry, so hungry…

"Die, Fiend!"

And the fight is on.

The vampire and the human charge at each other. The human with his sword – the vampire, his teeth and claws. Kain lunges wildly at the Knight – but the Knight, appreciating this move, dodges to the side and brings the sword cracking down on the vampires head, such a blow that would have killed a mortal man. But Kain is not a man, he is a vampire. And if the sword had not given him such a vicious migraine, he would have been impressed by the higher-than-average strength of the human.

But as such, Kain bares his fangs in irritation. The human is reminded of a proud lion – yawning, not because he is tired, but because he is showing off his sheer power. And once again, Kain pounces on the human. This time, he has a lucky hit; he knocks the Sarafan to the ground. But the man wriggles out from underneath him and cuts deeply into Kain's back with his sword.

Kain groans in pain; his body is not healing well any more with the bloodthirst. Gasping, he falls forward, actually onto the human, and, as he opens his mouth to cry, his fangs sink deeply into the only (very unwisely) unprotected part of the man's body:

His throat.

Kain thinks vaguely, as his veins grow blacker with someone else's blood, how stupid it is not to cover up the throat – but the rest of his mind is entirely devoted to drinking up life itself.

_Blood is Life. Without it, you will die._

Authors Notes: I realize now that I have written it, that this story is riddled with plot holes which I am sure you have all spotted for yourselves – please don't rub this in in your reviews, it was fun for me to write and I enjoyed it. So there.

TRIVIA ABOUT THIS FIC – I listened to lotsa music when I wrote this, namely "Whenever, Wherever", "Left Outside Alone", "Cloudbusting", "Experiment VI", "The Dreaming" and, whist I am typing this up very slowly, "The Man With The Child In His Eyes". Yes, these are on my MP3. Yes, I am a very, very sad person.

R&R please


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